


Ecstasy

by sky_kaijou



Series: Snow / Ecstasy [2]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Ecstasy - Freeform, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Seto POV, Violetshipping, first-person, non-explicit drug use, puppyshipping - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 12:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15908262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_kaijou/pseuds/sky_kaijou
Summary: I’ve experienced hangovers after weekends with you.Seto POV.





	Ecstasy

**Author's Note:**

> She hits like ecstasy.  
> Greek Tragedy – The Wombats

I’ve experienced hangovers after weekends with you.

It used to be fifteen minutes of pleasure, which followed a night of subtle flirting and meticulous track-covering. Burning business cards in separate hotel rooms to decimate our trails before sneaking off like children hiding their first boyfriend from caregivers.

Running fingers down chests, button after stubborn button as if they were mocking our ultraviolet inebriation. Heart beating heavy in our throats, metronomic to our moments falling like grains of sand in an hourglass. Every kiss, bite, moan delicately placed to make the most out of fifteen fleeting minutes. A silent agreement that paid off and left us momentarily fulfilled. Heartfelt compliments that sounded authentic under the veil of a snow dusted night while I let you have your way with me.

All the weeks of us swearing it wasn’t forever blurred into months of a subtle routine that cost us just enough time to keep our needs met without raising suspicion of our momentary reckonings.

And then you placed a little blue pill under my tongue when I was distracted and kissed my lips until I accepted that we were getting a different kind of high. I didn’t know whether to trust you, but you grew up on the streets and you’ve seen people die at the hands of just one bad trip. I only trusted enough that it was pure and that you were enjoying this just as much, maybe more, than what I was.

After all, I trusted you enough to never speak of what we did, when those Saturday nights after midnight were ours and you were rolling your voice over gravel as you told me that I’d enjoy it all if I just relax. _Relax_. My monochromatic world was burning with bright lights and soft sighs; fleeting moments of sexuality before minds fixated on fabrics, touches, smells, tastes, sounds, one by distracting one for all but minutes at a time.

We stayed awake all night talking, baring our souls as we ran our hands at will over each other’s chests and kissed softly like it was our first time until light streamed through a gap in the curtains and threw sobriety on contoured bodies. I told you secrets that could ruin my life, but you just smiled up at me with blond hair in your eyes and said that none of it mattered to you. Just here. Just now. Just the moonlight sweeping your cheekbones illuminating your smile and the stars twinkling like they’d keep our secrets a billion light years away.

And then you rolled out of my bed as the fall came, leaving me to lie there sleepless and touch-starved despite tracking your fingernails just deep enough to leave scratches on my ribcage that would remind me subtly over the weekend that you were only seven days away.

You’ve never kissed me when we were not under the influence, and I thought I would never want you to – the thought of seeing you sober repulsed me, agitated me, aroused me. But slowly, I found myself hovering over your name in my phone, daring myself to text you outside our weekends that were bleeding into two, three nights in a row. Others around me knew something was different, but I blamed working too much.

I never, never thought I’d see myself spiralling like this; replacing workaholism with both a drug addiction and you. You’re already two, three addictions worth of complications with your sly smile and carefree attitude. You almost convinced me that hey, it’s not that bad to need an escape, and I promise we won’t chase dreams more than once a month, once a fortnight, once a weekend. It’s a bed of roses we’re contouring between expecting to get thorns digging into our sides.

After the hangover of Monday mornings passed, the weeks were more productive when I had something to look forward to. This Rubik’s Cube of your personality, a billion combinations and every time I get just so close to figuring it out it wears off and I crash into hell after soaring through the glittering stars in the skies that is the colour wheel of your eyes, fortune golds and volcanic reds.

And then we started communicating in codes, expressing our needs by simply stating our drug of choice. A situational agreement; whether we wanted to fall into an illusion of love or sexual desire that we couldn’t have during sunlight. The more we learned on nights twisted amongst each other whispering about our dreams the more I realised we had in common.

We tiptoe around a question that neither of us want to be the first to ask like speaking it into existence is the worst outcome because of how the world looks at people like us.

Did you fall in love with me?

How is this going to come crashing down on us? Ecstasy forgets reason when we’re wrapped up in silk sheets. It’s only going to take one misplaced moment in a world of camera phones.

You know better, you’ve lived this hell before, watching addiction destroy families. I wonder how it’s affecting you, but you’ve taken to it like a fish to water and you’re acting more eager than I come Friday night, like you’ve set an alarm to be in my office at seven, and if anybody sees you walking through those doors and thinks anything of it, you don’t care because what you put into your body is your business. And who I put into mine is ours.

I’m clinging onto the curiosity of what we’d be like sober. Are we in love on that timeline?

Are you willing to find out, just once?


End file.
